


The Ten Commandments of Rodney McKay

by Claire



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Character Study, DADT, F/M, M/M, Past Sam Carter/Rodney McKay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-26
Updated: 2007-08-26
Packaged: 2019-01-20 01:34:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12422292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire
Summary: Speak thou with us, and we will hear...





	The Ten Commandments of Rodney McKay

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Military/Intelligence zine.

**I am the Lord your God who has taken you out of the land of Egypt**

_Now_

"Rodney."

He glances up as Elizabeth walks into the lab, frown on her features as she looks at him.

"What are you doing?"

His gaze moves to the files in front of him, only just biting back on the 'what does it look like?' that's sitting on the tip of his tongue. "Sorting out which of these people will be able to cope in another galaxy."

She's silent for a moment before, "You missed your appointment with Dr. Heightmeyer."

He knows; he watched as the clock tick past the time minute by minute. "Elizabeth, I don't have time-"

"Make time," she interrupts. "Everyone who steps through that 'gate needs to have been signed off by Dr. Heightmeyer. There are no exceptions in this, Rodney."

Not even for him, not even for the one who's their best chance of ever being able to get back. "Fine. I'll see her later."

But Elizabeth just looks at him, placing a piece of paper in front of him with a room number of it. "You'll see her now. She's waiting for you."

When Rodney gets to the room serving as Dr. Heightmeyer's office, he thinks it's cold and impersonal.

"Dr. McKay," Heightmeyer smiles at him, waving him inside. "Come in, have a seat."

She starts with banal things; topics he assumes are supposed to put him at ease, but just have him looking at the time and wondering if the mark II naquadah generator has arrived yet.

He thinks it's when she sees him checking the clock for the third time that she finally moves on to what they're both there for.

She goes straight to the point, not wasting time. "Why do you want to be on the expedition?" she asks, just like she must have asked of every other person there.

"Because it's the chance of a lifetime," Rodney answers, unable to explain that he feels that maybe the only way to get rid of the cold he's been feeling is to escape to another galaxy.

But Heightmeyer wants more. Because even scientists and explorers shouldn't be this eager at the prospect of leaving everything behind them and the possibility of never returning. So, even knowing that he's the best -- _only_ \-- person for the job, Rodney submits to the battery of questions she asks. He nods in the right places and talks of the unknown and a once in a lifetime chance, of experiencing first hand that which he's prepared half his life for.

When the tests are all over and Heightmeyer sits back and looks at him, she ends with the same question she starts with. "Why?"

She's looking at him so intently that Rodney answers truthfully for the first time since he's stepped through her door. "Because I have to." 

And Kate Heightmeyer nods and signs off his psychological evaluation.

**You shall have no other gods but me**

_Then_

"Why?"

It had been the first word Rodney McKay had ever spoken, the word he'd continued to speak throughout his childhood.

Why does this happen?

Why does this work?

Why?

Why?

Why?

"Because," his mother had always answered, too busy dealing with a fussy six-month-old Jeannie to answer a curious three-year-old's questions. "Don't question everything, Rodney, it's very annoying."

So Rodney didn't. He wondered how things worked, but kept the questions inside. Kept them him right up until the time Jeannie was so ill she was taken into hospital and his parents sent him to stay with his Aunt Marie.

His aunt's house was different than Rodney was used to; there were books everywhere and taken-apart electronics on each surface.

Why do it do that?

Why did you need to take it apart?

Why?

Marie ignored the questions at first, and then she started answering them. Not with 'Because' like his mother did, but with explanations of currents and waves. So Rodney kept on asking.

"Why?"

When she'd looked at him, blue eyes shining, Rodney knew that that was it. She'd finally got fed up of him asking. But she didn't tell him to be quiet. Instead, "Why do you think?"

"Because," he replied, proving that, even if he didn't want to be, he was his mother's child.

Marie studied him for long moments. "Not good enough," she eventually said. "Tell me _why_."

So he did. He told her why, and Marie grinned at him, encouraging each thought, each word.

"You've got potential, Rodney," she said, laughing. "I can work with that."

And Rodney took those words and fell head first into a world that felt like home.

**You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain**

_Now_

Rodney watches as the mice run around the tank, totally unaware of the reason they've been brought to this other galaxy, to this other world.

_You're probably going to die, you know,_ he thinks. _Poor little rodent sacrifices on the altar of knowledge._ The mice ignore his thoughts, rummaging for food and running over each other. He wonders if this is what the Wraith feel like when they look at humans -- superior, higher, _better_ \-- making use of the chaos of humanity.

"Sit down, I'm ready." Carson pats the bed, waiting until Rodney is sitting before the tube goes around Rodney's arm, tight and pinching.

Rodney can see the syringe, golden liquid filling it, holding the promise of the ATA gene. He answers Carson's questions by route, never taking his eyes off the syringe. Finally, Carson presses the needle into his flesh, sharp sting and warmth as the liquid runs into his body.

"So, how long until it starts working?" he asks. Because he wants to touch, to use. He's watched as Sheppard's face lights up along with whatever he's holding, and he wants to feel the same.

Carson places the empty syringe back on the tray and looks at him. "Ah, it could take some time-"

"What is that?"

Rodney glances down at the device in his hand. He knows he shouldn't have brought it with him, should have probably left it in the lab, but he didn't. "Oh, something I found in one of the research labs. Something the Ancients were experimenting with." Something Sheppard hasn't seen yet, something Rodney hasn't shown him. Rodney knows it's irrational, that they're all in the same situation and they need to work together, but he wants something that's his. He doesn't want to have to wait until Sheppard deigns to spare some time.

"Carson?"

Maybe it's an indication of the friendship they developed in Antarctica that Carson doesn't need to hear the question. "We should know within a few minutes."

Rodney nods and closes his eyes, the beat of his heart a metronome against the time.

"Rodney? Anything?"

But there's nothing. He can almost hear the mocking call of the universe, tempting him with her secrets but keeping the final key to all the answers just out of his reach.

"I-" But Rodney's words are cut off by the sensation sweeping through him. Light and knowledge dance along the edges of his consciousness, beckoning him, welcoming him.

And Atlantis sings.

**You shall remember the Sabbath and keep it Holy**

_Then_

When Rodney was twelve he found himself alone in the Principal's office, staring at the object on the desk. He could hear the words outside the door, walls just too thin to block out the sound completely. His mother's voice, anger lacing her tone as she spoke with the occasional French word slipping through, reached him and he couldn't help but wince, glad she wasn't there to see it.

He debated moving from the chair he had been told to sit in; debated moving to the door and pressing his ear against it to see if the words became clearer. He knew what they were talking about, but wanted to know what they were saying. He wanted to know how contrite he should act, even if every cell in his body was flushed with the knowledge of success.

He twisted around as the door behind him opened, Principal Reynolds allowing Rodney's mother to enter before him. She glanced down at him briefly, lips pursed like she'd just tasted the lemon Rodney was never going to be able to have.

"Rodney, your teachers and I are concerned." Reynolds's words were soft, coaxing, like he'd spoken to a thousand others in this situation, like he wanted to _understand_. His hands reached out to his desk, pausing only slightly before he picked up Rodney's science project. "After all, a replica of an atomic bomb isn't usually the first thing that comes to mind when people are thinking of projects for the Science Fair."

But Rodney knew that wasn't the issue. It wasn't the fact that he built it, or even that he built it well. He knew it was because he built it _perfectly_. And if he had been able to get his hands on just one drop of uranium-235 they would have seen just how perfect it was.

"It's not against the rules." He knew because he checked.

The vein in Reynolds's temple beat a steady tattoo and Rodney found himself wanting to tap his foot to the rhythm. "That's not really the point."

The sigh that came from beside him belaboured his principal's words. "For God's sake, Rodney, just tell us why!" Exasperation written into every syllable that fell from his mother's lips.

And with that, each carefully constructed explanation melted away. Every word on wanting, on _needing_ , to know fell by the wayside.

"Because," Rodney answered, refusing to look anywhere but at the hand lying against his leg.

Because his fingers wanted to know what it felt like to hold life in his hands. Because, when Mr. Parker said that they should enter something that called to them, Rodney never expected it to be Oppenheimer that answered back.

So he built it. He built it because he wanted to. He built it because it was hard and intricate. He built it because if he saw one more ant farm he was going to crack. But most of all, he built it because he could.

"Because," he repeated, looking up and meeting the stony grey eyes studying him.

But Principal Reynolds didn't accept that, and neither did the therapist he saw for the next three years.

**You shall not steal**

_Now_

Rodney trails his fingers across the top of the ZPM and imagines walking back through the 'gate with it in his arms. Imagines the looks on Elizabeth's face when he shows it to her, the look on Zelenka's when he sees that they have a ZPM with enough charge in it to power so many of Atlantis's systems.

"We can't take it, Rodney."

Rodney doesn't ask how Sheppard knows what's he's thinking. "They could come back to Atlantis, we could-"

"We told them we'd fix it."

Told Keras they'd fix it. Keras, who looks at Sheppard like Sheppard is all he's ever wanted. Rodney is pretty sure it's the same way _he's_ looking at the ZPM.

"We'll find another one, Rodney." Sheppard is so sure.

"And if we don't?" If they're too late, if the Wraith come bearing down on them before they have a chance?

"We will." Sheppard lays a hand on Rodney's arm, warmth seeping through the jacket he's wearing and winding its way into his skin.

Rodney glances down at the long, elegant fingers curved around his arm, and he wonders what Sheppard would do if he just took the ZPM and left. His fingers tap out a steady rhythm against his thigh to stop his hands from reaching out as Keras walks over to them.

"The shield will really protect us all?" Keras asks, too young for being twenty-four. And when Rodney was twenty-four he was already part way to the third PhD, had had his heart broken twice and had fucked his way through more people than he would ever admit to now.

Sheppard moves away from Rodney, looking at Keras and nodding. "There'll be no need for the sacrifices, Keras. Everyone here will be able to grow up."

Keras is staring at them, staring at Rodney's arm where Sheppard's fingers had lain, and Rodney can feel it coming, can already hear the words before Keras speaks them.

"Will you come back, Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard nods. "Absolutely. If there's a problem, then we'll-"

But Keras shakes his head. "That's not what I meant. Will _you_ come back? I would," Keras pauses, glancing at Rodney before continuing, "like to see you again."

"Ah." And Sheppard gets it now. "That -- won't be possible."

A heartbeat passes and then, "I understand." Only Keras isn't looking at Sheppard, he's looking at Rodney, all wide eyes and seeing something that isn't -- that can't -- be there. "I-" But the words stop as his stance straightens and he looks back at Sheppard. "Thank you for giving us this chance," he says, before he turns, heading back towards the settlement.

Sheppard glances at him once they're alone again. "Rodney?"

"Yes?" He's not sure what Sheppard is going to say. Whether he's going to brush off a pass made by a young man as a joke, or ignore it completely.

"Let's go home." But whatever it was, Rodney didn't think it would be that.

And with the heat of Sheppard's touch still burning through his jacket, Rodney flicks the switch and feels the sky crackle.

**Honour your mother and father**

_Then_

Rodney was seventeen when his parents found out he was bisexual. It wasn't that he had told them. It wasn't as though he'd had to after they walked in to find him kissing one of the boys out of his class on the sofa.

It hadn't been planned; they really had been studying. And then Michael had pointed out a mistake in the textbook, leaning forward with a grin on his face. It had been more than easy for Michael to close the gap between them and kiss Rodney. More than easy for Rodney to kiss back.

They'd been making out on the couch when Rodney's parents had come back from the restaurant. Rodney's hand was just sliding up Michael's shirt, warm skin under his fingers, when the shout of outrage split the air.

Michael had grabbed his things and gone, Rodney's father yelling obscenities behind him.

"Why?" demanded his father when Michael was gone, when Jeannie had been sent to bed and his mother was looking at him with shame in her eyes.

Only, what could he have said? He was attracted to Michael because of a shock of dark hair and a mind that could think at the speed of light.

"Do you know how upset you've made your mother?" Vitriol laced each word. "Why can't you just be normal?"

And that was the crux of it, of it all. Don't embarrass him by correcting your teacher in school. Don't have the neighbour's curtains twitching when the CIA brings you home from the science fair. Don't do anything to draw attention to the fact that by the time you were ten you'd already passed his level of education.

"Maybe I can't _be_ normal, because I'm _not_ normal. Just me and my faggy pervert self-"

There had been more words, more venom to drop from Rodney's mouth, but the anger in his father's eyes shone and the split lip, the cracked jaw and the bruise on his face stopped Rodney from answering further.

It was the last time he saw his parents which meant that the telephone call five years later had been unexpected -- Jeannie, crying and stuttering -- and Rodney had only picked up every third word through her sobbing. Car crash. No survivors. Funeral.

It had been a cold day in August, and Rodney had had to borrow a suit off a friend because he didn't own one. The priest had spoken about lives cut short and offered to God, about two good people, two loving parents who had raised their children well.

Rodney hadn't known why the priest had stopped speaking, why everyone else had been looking at him, until he'd realised the derisive laughter was coming from him.

And he had been able feel the stinging shape of Jeannie's hand on his cheek all the way back to his car.

**You shall not murder**

_Now_

Rodney stands in the bathroom, scrubbing at his fingers and watching as the red water swirls down the drain. He doesn't realise there's someone else in the room with him until fingers close around his hand, gently taking the scrubbing brush from him and dropping it into the sink.

Rodney looks down, eyes cataloguing the differences between Sheppard's white fingers and his red ones.

"It's not coming off," he says, stained fingers shining under the bright lights. "I killed him and now it's not coming off."

"Rodney, it's okay." Sheppard's voice is quiet, soft, and Rodney wants to tell him that he doesn't need to speak to him as though Rodney's about to crack. Wants to tell Sheppard that, even if he thinks he might be. "You didn't have a choice."

But he did. He could have chosen to let Teyla die. He had a choice, even if it wasn't one at all. He can still feel the blood slipping through his fingers, hot and slick. He thinks he left Sheppard's knife back on the planet, along with a gun that was lost somewhere in the forest. He wonders if someone will complain to Elizabeth when they have to requisition new weapons. Wonders if anything will be said about supplies being limited, about them not having enough for Rodney to go leaving knives in bodies on various planets.

"I-" He wants to say something. Say that he may have thought about killing half of the people he went to high school with, but that it always involved elaborate plans with bombs and him being miles away. How it never, _never_ , involved a knife sliding into someone's skin with terrifying ease and watching as they died. He wants to say it, but he's on his knees, retching. Pink stains brand the toilet seat where he's holding it, and a hand is rubbing soothing circles over his back.

Sheppard hands him a glass of water when he's done, stomach empty and mouth tasting of bitter ashes.

"Thanks," Rodney says, sipping the water and spitting it out, watching it swirl away, carrying with it the ignorance he never knew he had. Rodney places the glass on the sink, and if he does it with shaking hands then neither he nor Sheppard mention it.

"Feeling better?" Sheppard asks the question like he already knows the answer is no, but will let Rodney lie to him anyway. Only Rodney doesn't feel like lying.

"It won't come off," is all he says, wiggling his still-tainted fingers.

"It comes off, Rodney." Sheppard picks up the soap and gently runs it over Rodney's hands, fingers pressing carefully as the bubbles turn pink before they are rinsed away. "It doesn't feel like it, but it does."

Eventually his fingers are clean, blood gone, only, "I can still see it." Because it's seeped so far into his skin, he doesn't think he'll ever be able to get rid of it.

Sheppard looks at him, silence stretching for long moments. "You always will," he says softly. "But you still made the right choice."

**You shall not commit adultery**

_Then_

Rodney had never admitted it to any one, but his attraction to Sam was tempered with a degree of dislike. He knew the Stargate, inside and out. Knew it because the Stargate was his, it had had all of his life for longer than he'd care to admit. Because, whether he liked it or not, it owned him. So every time an idea or a suggestion had been returned to him with a 'rejected' stamp on it and a notation that 'Carter didn't think it was feasible,' Rodney felt more and more bitter. He'd never been sure if it was because she was American or because she was military, but someone somewhere had decided that Sam Carter's opinion mattered a lot more than Rodney McKay's did.

So when Rodney had first met Sam face to face he hadn't been prepared for dislike disguising itself as lust. She challenged him, thought the same as him. Rodney had finally met someone who was his intellectual equal and part of him revelled in it.

Rodney knew there were things he wasn't privy to about the night Sam agreed to have dinner with him. He knew it in the way she refused to look at Colonel O'Neill. He knew it; he just didn't care. He knew something had happened and if he wanted to capitalise on it, then it was the perfect time.

"Have dinner with me," he asked, taken-apart naquadah reactor sitting in front of them.

"Why?" Sam's reply was laced with surprised that Rodney had even asked.

"Because I want to get to know you better." He smiled and felt her respond to the words his lips didn't say.

_Because you're intelligent and beautiful._ And that was always a combination Rodney found irresistible.

_Because you keep up with me when no one else can._ The last time he'd been on a date he'd been ready to slit his wrists five minutes into the starter. Pretty but vacant only worked from a distance.

_Because you challenge me and force me to be better._ Which was something no one had been able to do in a very long time.

_Because, even if it's just for one night, I want to be with you._ Please.

Sam looked at him for long moments before nodding.

"All right, then."

It started that night; skin against skin, his breath against her flesh, and talk of wormholes and stars. And then one day she looked at him. His hair was messed, his skin was sweaty, the smell of sex surrounded them both, and she took that moment to look at him, to _really_ look at him, and left him for a man that would never be hers.

**You shall not bear false witness**

_Now_

Elizabeth looks at Rodney with concern in her eyes when he steps into her office.

"You wanted to see me?" he says. "And can we make it quick, I need to be at the east pier grounding station in about ten minutes." He sits and looks at her, fingers tapping against his thigh in an effort to stop from clicking them at her when she doesn't speak.

Long moments pass in silence, and Rodney feels a frisson of unease creeping down his spine. "Elizabeth?"

"One of the Marines has reported Colonel Sheppard for Conduct Unbecoming," she says eventually, her voice soft.

"What? That's ridiculous!" Rodney would lay money on the fact that it'll be one of the new arrivals. No one, _no one_ , who had been with them since the beginning would pull something like this -- not with everything they'd been through. 

"Who was it?" And then he realises that isn't the most important question. The most important question is why is he there and Sheppard isn't? Why is she looking at him with careful concern written on her face? "Why are you telling me this?" A thought, "What has Sheppard been accused of?"

"They say he's sleeping with a member of his team." She pins him with her gaze and he's thrown back to middle school where one of the boys in his class used to collect butterflies. Used to take them and pin them to a board, wings outspread, so he could see how beautiful they were. Because beauty only matters when it's dead and gone. "They say he's sleeping with you."

So, two strikes then. Not only is Sheppard fucking a member of his team, but he's fucking a man. Someone must really want Caldwell to have the job.

It takes a moment for Rodney to realise Elizabeth's still speaking. "Rodney, if it's true, I can protect you."

And the thing is, Elizabeth really believes that. Really believes that she could stop the SGC from pulling John out of there so fast they wouldn't realise he was even gone until it was too late. Gene or not, too many people want John Sheppard out of the way, for whatever reason.

"Please, Rodney, I can't help if I don't know." Her eyes are full of empathy she can't possibly have. "Is it true?"

Rodney looks at her, solemn gaze looking back. In the back of his mind he can hear muted pleas, moans and whimpers. He sees flashes of skin, of dark eyes heavy with lust and want and need. He feels the burning touch of fingers pressing into him, the searing heat of the body surrounding him. He hears his name whispered into the darkness.

"No, Elizabeth," he says, his voice steady, "I'm not in a sexual relationship with Colonel Sheppard."

**You shall not covet your neighbour's ass**

_Always_

"John-"

Rodney arches as hands reach for him, pulling the clothes off in haste to get to the skin underneath.

"Want you," John murmurs, hands finally reaching skin.

"Got me," Rodney replies, words bitten off because John's fingers are hot, too hot, and Rodney needs to touch, to have.

Clothes drop to the floor in a jumble as they make their way to the bed, mouths fused together and not needing to look because their bodies already know the way.

They tumble onto the bed, John moving for a moment before he's back, tube clutched in one hand and looking at Rodney.

"Can I?" he asks, voice heavy with want.

And Rodney wonders why he even feels the need to ask. Whatever John wants, it's his. "Yes, oh God, yes."

The tube snaps open and fingers, slick and hot, slide into him, opening him, stretching him. It's too much and it's not enough and Rodney wants more, needs more.

"Please-"

But Rodney doesn't need to beg because John's fingers are already leaving him. He's empty for only a brief moment before they are replaced by something bigger, harder, more insistent than before.

Rodney closes his eyes as John slides inside him in one steady thrust. John is braced on the bed, arms against Rodney's side, and Rodney can feel the tremors running through John, feel the tremors from the effort of John holding back. But John doesn't need to, not here, not now, not with him.

"John-"

Rodney's eyes are open now, looking at John and seeing dark staring back at him. Sees dark as John's lips touch his, soft and gentle like he's afraid to press too hard, like he's afraid Rodney will break if he does. But Rodney's been broken before and it feels nothing like this. Feels nothing like John surrounding him, holding him.

"I won't break," Rodney murmurs, voice soft and lips moving under John's.

John pulls back slightly, eyes tracing every part of Rodney's face. And Rodney doesn't know what John sees there, but it makes John move, sliding in and out of him, hips snapping forward as he buries himself in Rodney's body.

Rodney's hands wrap around John's arms, tightening with each thrust. His cock is trapped between them, rubbed by sweat-slicked skin, and it can't last because it's too good, and nothing good ever lasts.

And then John is shifting, hand sliding between them to grasp Rodney's cock, stripping it in time with his thrusts into Rodney.

"Come on, Rodney. Come for me."

It's a plea and an order wrapped together, and Rodney can't refuse. Screaming, he comes, emptying himself over John's hand and feeling John follow him over the edge before he drops down beside Rodney, cock sliding from Rodney's body and leaving him bereft.

They lie there, legs tangled as the moonlight shines in through the window.

"Elizabeth spoke to me today," Rodney says.

"I know." Even if Elizabeth didn't say anything, Atlantis is a small base and gossip and conjecture run high. "They can't do anything without evidence, Rodney." John's voice is quiet, cautious.

"We'll just have to be careful, then." Because Rodney isn't giving John up, would walk off the expedition before that ever happened. People think they know him, think that there's nothing he wouldn't give up to stay on Atlantis. He looks at John. They'd be wrong.

John's hand reaches out, twining their fingers together. "We can do that."

And it may be a long way from perfect but it's all they have. It may be a long way from perfect but Rodney's finding out it's all they really need.


End file.
